Sedated
by beforeskylines
Summary: Forgotten, abandoned or incomplete pieces. Various Sam/Freddie.
1. Days & Nights

**A/N- So this is just a place to dump all my unfinished stuff- idea completely copied from Spinlight's "Waste of Ink." Any-who one-shots, AUs and other things I never finished/haven't posted. (Oh, and all this stuff is completely un-edited so peek through your fingers while reading to ignore the atrocious grammar.)**

**Hardcore Days & Softcore Nights**

Its sophomore year that Sam decides she'd be good as the partying type. She's sitting on the Shay's counter with a handful of ham and a smile, giving Freddie one of her usual you-disgust-me-so-much-it's-amusing looks.

"We should go to that party tonight the one at…Jane's? house." Carly's out of town and Spencer is …somewhere but somehow it's normal for them to just take the loft as their own. Somehow it isn't so weird to be just the two of them anymore.

"Jim's. Why would you want to go to that? All they do is, like, smoke weed and get wasted." Which Freddie knows it supposed to sound appealing to teenagers but his mother had made him endure one too many side-effects of drug use slide-show for that to be appealing.

"Yeah but I was thinking I'd be so good at that. Like, Wendy asked me today if I had any weed and it just struck me that, you know, I should have weed." She finishes her Ham, sucking on her fingers. "I have connections, my cousin Rod has been in jail seven times for drug possession. I could get good stuff."

"People don't do stuff just because they'd be good at it. I could be a good meth addict if I tried but you don't see me jumping on that bandwagon." Sam opens her mouth and Freddie quickly cuts her off, "I'm not becoming a meth addict."

"Eh. You're already bad enough to look at without the stuff anyhow. But really, I should do it. I could get a hat and cane and be a drug lord."

"You're thinking of a pimp."

"You could be a whore then."

"Which one are you going to be, a pimp or a drug lord?"

"I could do both. Take over the Seattle underground scene."

"You know drugs dull your taste buds."

Sam wipes her saliva covered fingers on her jeans and lets her eyes drift to the ceiling, apparently weighing the pros and cons. "I could still be pimp."

Freddie decides to ignore her, picking up the TV remote and tuning into the newest episode of Celebrities Underwater. Sam hops off the counter and walks towards the door, kicking him in the shin as she passes.

"Come on, you're buying me a smoothie." A flash of irritation briefly passes over him but he's too used to her abuse to really be mad.

"I'm pretty sure pimps don't drink smoothies."

"They do when the whore is buying."

/

It's the beginning of their junior year when Carly decides they're weird. Freddie is sitting in the iCarly studio re-writing his English essay that Sam stole and Carly is watching him from the prop car. Sam's somewhere that's apparently makes it impossible to answer her cell.

"Why are you re-writing your paper?" Carly asks, playing with the iCarly remote and causing random noises to blare out and the lights to flicker every so often.

"Because Sam stole mine," he thinks this is obvious but since its Carly who's asking he trusts that she's going somewhere with the question. "She's getting better at editing things to make it seem like she wrote it." Last time he was actually stupid enough to accuse Sam of stealing he ended up getting detention for a week because Ms. Briggs was convinced it was Freddie who copied Sam, and not the other way around. He still doesn't know how Ms. Briggs even got her job.

"Yeah, I know. But usually when she does that you make a big deal out of it instead of just complying."

Freddie shrugs, "It's less effort to just re-write it."

"I don't get it," Carly shakes her head and Freddie snorts.

"No one gets Sam Puckett."

"No, I mean, I don't get you. You and Sam, you're weird."

Freddie thinks about arguing but he can't of anything good so he shrugs again. "Yeah, maybe."

**/**

"Benson!"

Freddie thinks he's hearing voices. It was really only a matter of time; really, with his mother's over parenting and Sam's abuse he actually thought he'd lose his sanity much sooner. It's only when an arm shoots out of the bushes and pulls him down her level does he realize the 'voices' he's hearing is Sam. Which figures.

"Way to almost screw everything up, nub," she whispers, eyes narrowed she peers through the bushes. "Honestly, you can't do anything right."

"You do realize you are the most emotional and physical-"she shoves him, making a shushing noise that is much louder than he was speaking.

"Howard is gonna come across the corner any minute." She smiles and Freddie instantly shoots up.

"Oh, no. You are not commandeering me into one of your reckless plans again." Or, at least, she wasn't going to. It's just Mr. Howard takes that moment to come around the corner and Freddie thinks it's a lot smarter to be crouching down in the bushes unseen then standing in the middle of a quad like a big 'blame me!' sign.

"This is going to be good," Sam's voice is barley a whisper and when Freddie turns his head to look at her he realizes how close they are. Actually, he already knew they were close because with Sam it's impossible for him not know exactly how close she is- he's hyper aware of her existence- but, like, he can smell her hair and see the little flakes of gold in her eyes and that makes it hard to swallow.

It's not even that he likes her- or, if he does, that's not even the point- it's just that Sam isn't the most unattractive girl at Ridgeway. In fact, she's ranked number thirteen on the list of hottest chicks on the fifth stall in the boy's bathroom. Though there's a rumor going around that she was the one who wrote that list- which is very likely because Carly is number one and he's number thirty two.

"What in the world-!" Freddie turns his attention back to the quad where Mr. Howard was now covered in some kind of bubbly substance.

"There was suppose to be glue and feathers," Sam whispers angrily. "I'm gonna kill that freshman."

"You were going to feather Mr. Howard?" He's not even really surprised.

"No, I am going to feather Mr. Howard. Keep him distracted." And before Freddie can even process what's happening he's being shoved out into the quad with a sudsy glaring down at him.

"You," he says, suds flying out of his mouth. "Are coming with me."

**/**

They get kicked out of the grocery store.

"Nice going, Benson," Sam rolls her eyes and plops down on the curb in front of the shop 'n save, barley batting an eye before falling back onto the sidewalk. Freddie thinks of the million germs that fester on the ground before plopping down beside her, frowning both at her statement and how much he just reminded himself of his mother.

"In what universe is this my fault?" He asks, though he knows there's no use arguing with her.

"Every universe. It you had just pushed me in the cart then-"

"There's a sign that reads clearly that no one over the age of five-"

"-Hit you in the chest and that security guard wouldn't have –"

"-had just let me handle the security guard then-"

"-domestic abuse and I wouldn't have to show him what abuse really looked-'

"Crazy maniac!" Freddie finishes, arm raised in frustrating and Sam props herself up with her elbows.

"We should get ice cream." Briefly Freddie pictures himself reaching out and shaking the blonde until she just stops moving but he pushes away the thought with a sigh and a shake of his head.

"Fine. But only because its a million degrees and you just ruined our chances of getting any more popsicles."

"Cool. You're paying."

**/**

"You got kicked out of the grocery store? Again." Spencer shakes his head, making sure to really put his neck into the shake so everyone can see just how much his hair is like those shampoo commercials. Last week Carly started nagging him about getting it cut once again and ever since the elder Shay has been on a mission to prove his locks worth.

"It wasn't my fault," Freddie says, looking over to where is Sam is assaulting her ice cone. Assaulting because there's no other word for the thing she's doing with her mouth.

"I swear I can't send you two to do anything," Carly sips on her lemonade before narrowing her eyes. "You weren't banned were you? Because that would make the seventh place Sam is-"

"We weren't banned, chill," Sam finishes the last of her cone, swallowing hard and brushing off the mess she's made on her shirt. Freddie is about to make a comment about how she still needs a bib at seventeen but he catches a spot of chocolate on her collar bone and finds himself acutely aware of the cut of Sam's tank-top. "It was all Benson's fault anyhow."

Sam looks up to confirm this and catches his eyes, he quickly looks away and sputters out a quick, "Y-yeah. Well, um, I gotta go home." Before making his way towards the door.

"Freddie?" Carly calls after him but he's already out the door.

**/**


	2. Harsher

**((Harsher))**

/

_I hope you didn't expect that you'd get all of the attention.  
>Now let's not get selfish<br>did you really think I'd really let you kill this chorus?_  
>

Clothes are scattered onto the floor as she regains her breath, throwing a hand on top of her eyes to shield herself from the reality. Beside her he's stiff, mind finally catching up with his body as he processes the scene that lies before him. She doesn't know what to say, doesn't want words to break the cocoon that they have wrapped around them.

How the hell had they gotten here?

Sam can hardly remember. She was pissed, madder then she could ever remember being. Screaming, yelling, maybe even a bit of crying- on his part, of course- they had battled it out. The fight was blurry, she didn't remember much; something about her mother being a whore and Freddie's father knowing better to want a sissy like him. Carly had left yesterday for her freshmen orientation, and though she'd promised to be back in a few days, emotions were running high as they realized they were on the brink of the end. They had fought just to fight, letting go of their feelings in a way only a couple as emotionally stunted as they could.

One moment she was punching, he was pushing and the next they were all skin and sweat; combining in some beautifully broken explosion of pain and fear.

They had always been suckers for plucking each other's firsts. In a way, it was fitting.

"Sam," he starts and she can almost feel everything break, like glass sprinkling around her feet.

"Don't."

"Sam, we can't-"

"Don't." With anyone else this would have been the end. When she made something final, it was final. Only, with him the rules don't apply. Never apply.

"What did we do?"

What the hell kind of question was that? How would she know the answer? Her stomach was sick and her body was cold, all she knew is that maybe this time they'd gone a bit too far. Got as close as they'd ever been and yet she feels like they can't be further apart.

She lays back in the bed- not her bed, his bed. The thought makes the silken sheets seem liked needles, uncomfortable and harsh pricking into her skin. "It's just sex," she says, not too sure who she's telling. "Doesn't mean a thing." She wants to grab her clothes, shield herself in a tantalizing web of barriers, but that will make things worse. She can't be the weak one, god knew he wasn't going to be the strong one and if they both fell apart like virgins unfamiliar with the concept of being anything less they'd be done before they even started. She needs to save this; needs to fix this.

"Just sex? That's bullshit."

She copies the moves from her mother's old 1960's romance movies. Sits up in beds, sheet hanging off her frame as she sets him with a level gaze. "It's skin on skin; body to body. Fucking, Fredward, is not the sentimental chiz they make it out to be in those sweet little teen movies you watch. We can- this can be just sex."

Equally as level, so confident in fact she wonders if he saw the same movie she did, he responds, "It can be, but it's not." She wants to wring his neck. Throw an insult his way, do something to get him angry enough to let it go long enough for her to slip away; disappear. She's been meaning to ditch the Seattle scene anyway, the whole goodbye thing was overrated and now more than ever it seemed disappearing was the best option. Of course, in her mind she was going to leave them with good memories- but one out of two wasn't so bad in the end.

So she does it, brings out that monster that exists inside of her and blocks out all emotion. "Sure it is. Just because 'just sex' landed a kid for your mother doesn't mean we just can't pull it off. We used protection, I can assure you in nine months I won't be popping out some loser who has the emotional capacity of, well, you're average pregnant whore."

His head tilts to the side, as if she literally reached out and slapped him. His eyes are steely and cold and she knows he knows what game she's playing at. "Don't do this," he tells her, like she has time to stop or something.

She slides out of the bed, keeping her frame confidence. "Don't be needy." She slips on her clothes; she thinks she'll burn them or something when she gets home.

"Sam," he tries, and his words almost reach out and trap her.

"Bye, Benson." Almost.

**/**

"What's up with you and Freddie?" Carly says this in her Carly way, all sing-songy and girly and _high school_. It's been a two weeks since they've graduated and yet it seems like years.

"Like I know what's up that nub," Sam snorts, shifts a bit because she can still feel him and for the first time in forever she's lost her appetite.

"I think you know a lot about going on with 'the nub,'" Carly shakes her head and smiles. "I saw him hanging around your locker this morning and I also saw him there at lunch and after school. What's up? Did something happened?" Sam opens her mouth but Carly interjects, "And remember, no secrets."

"_Nothing_," Sam groans. She thinks if she keeps saying it, it will come true. At least, she's pretty sure what they said in that psych class she took in freshman year. She wasn't awake for much of it. "The geek probably just realized what a stunning, alluring gal I am and now he's following me around. Feelings unreciprocated, of course."

"Of course," Carly giggles. "Well if Freddie does confess his undying love for you, you stunning, alluring girl, you have to tell me immediately."

"I'll text you as soon as the ambulance takes him away."

"'Cause that will happen."

/

"You're freaking out Carly." Freddie is doing this thing with his face to make it look worse than usual. His lips are tilted down and his eyes are narrowed- either from lack of sleep or emotion, she can't tell- and he absolutely has no color to him. A part of her feels guilty, like it's all her fault and then there's the other part that forces her to tilt her head upwards and look away.

"Sam, I just want to talk," his voice is rough and his hands can't stop jittering against his thigh. Sam wonders if his mother has seen him in such a state. Probably not, if she had he'd be in a mental institution or something.

"About?" She folds her arm across her chest, pretends like she can't be bothered.

"Us. I don't get why you're avoiding me." As he says this he sinks down into his camper chair and she becomes acutely aware of where they are. She decides she hates this balcony and hates fucking first times.

"I'm not avoiding you." She's just purposely keeping away from any area he vacates.

"Yes, yes you are. Look, I know that what happened was-" he pauses and she's actually anxious to hear what he has to say. So far the only adjective she's come up with is 'scarring.' "Unexpected. I know this is something big, that we can't take it back-"

"It's just sex," she slips in, because she thinks she'll have a better chance of convincing herself if she convinces him.

"But I think we can move past it," he ignores her. "I mean you and me…"he pauses, looks up at her hopefully like she'll cut in and fill in the blanks. When she does nothing but stare he continues, "I care about you Sam."

"So?" And she's angry, like everything is suddenly occurring to her all at once. "Things like that don't matter when you're leaving for college in a month. They don't matter when I'm still going to be here and we've already fucked- which means you're already taking one thing of mine with you- and we're not an afterschool special." And she's not even crying, which is something to be proud of because with all she's feeling it's practically a crime not to. "If you weren't such a," she gestures to him, "Freakishly loser-ish nub then maybe things would've been different. But you are, so we're screwed." And she can't even think of them being different and dating because the idea of them as a couple is so laughable she doesn't even know why her mind has been conjuring up the image for the last few months.

/

**The first part was a drabble that I expanded upon and never ended up finishing. I swear I have issues with writing these two on the brink of something more without ever getting anywhere.**


	3. Stoplights

**Stoplights**

Sam's always the red.

As Freddie sits and waits, soft weight on his shoulder and hum of the engine serving as his only distractions, he can't help but stare at the stoplight in front of him and think that out of the three, she's the red. She's the danger zone; the warning sign, telling you stop before you even get in. Always the leader, never the fearful, she trudges ahead in a flurry of blonde curls and blue eyes like the world is her own creation.

He thinks she should be the green, but she's too unstoppable for that. If she was green then there'd have to be a red out there to slow her down, and he's positive that no one could be strong enough to stop her in her tracks.

Going, going, gone.

One of these days she's going to disappear. While she's on red the light will turn green and in that second that everyone's gazes turn, so captivated by the idea of moving, she'll fade away. She'll leave him stuck in yellow, unsure whether to stop and let her go or try his hardest to catch her; if not stopping her (the impossible), at least trying his best to slow her down.

The light in front of him turns green, drawing him back into a reflection of reality, at the same time she shifts beside him, head still firmly planted on his shoulder, a makeshift pillow. Face relaxed, eyes closed, body sunken in a trusting manner he's never seen while her eyes are awake and ablaze; she's stopped.

Sam Puckett the great, defenses down and walls forgotten, glows red in the dark.

**/**

**The Stoplight Series. I kind of hate the rest of this series and so I decided to just leave it with just this first piece.**


	4. Highway

**Highway to Hell**

/

_Dear Mom,_

Freddie Benson froze, pen pressed delicately against his initialed stationary (his mother had wanted a girl, so sue him) as a sudden realization swept over him. He was writing a _Dear Mom_ letter- a god damn_ Dear Mom_ letter no less than twenty minutes after his love-fueled exclamation to be 'dangerously spontaneous' from that point on. No wonder Carly had given him that 'Oh, sure…' smile after he had so passionately vowed to change his whole personality for her. No wonder Carly had said she wasn't his type in the first place- she wanted dangerous and reckless, which was not Freddie.

He had a plan. He was going to runaway- not forever, because that would defeat the purpose of wooing Carly- but for the summer, at least. He was going to be like a movie Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt would star in their younger years; a sheltered young youth who needed a one-on-one road trip to discover himself. By the end of the summer he'd have a pair of shades, overwhelming confidence and Carly. It was a perfect plan. Or it was well until he made the check list and started on the _Dear Mom_ letter.

"Just go," he commanded himself, turning his back on his desk and facing his half-packed suitcase. He hadn't even packed the first-aid section! "Don't do it." He gaze strayed to his bookshelf where tons of handy guide books and travel-savvy CDs he had collected over the years laid. Well, even the baddest of the bad had to have some kind of plan.

_Yes_, his mind spat sarcastically, _I'm sure before his death Sid Vicious was all about the guidebooks_.

Freddie shook his head, he just needed to go. Needed to get away before he was overcome by his sensible side- overcome by what made him Freddie Benson, the best friend and not Freddie Benson, the boyfriend. With another love-fueled wave of passion he closed his suitcase and started out, telling his mind to shut up as he thought about his soon to be worry-ridden mother. He was eighteen, in August he'd be at Yale- it was time to live without mommy's okay. It was time to live, period.

"I'm doing this," he told himself, stepping out of the elevator to meet the evil glare of Lewbert, the doorman.

"Hey! Hey! Where do you think you're going with that suitcase," he screeched in his nails-to-chalkboard voice.

"Into the wild." Mental note, do not quote non-fiction titles on the road trip. Actually, it'd probably be better if he didn't quote any literature that wasn't like _Fight Club_ or something else equally popular and manly.

"Yeah," Lewbert hissed as Freddie started out the door. "Well, have fun with that."

Freddie smirked, oh he would.

Probably.

/

Shit.

Credit cards were shit. What, did no one carry cash anymore? Sam flipped through the third and last wallet she had nicked throughout the day, adding the loan twenty to the wad of cash beside her. Wallets that cost hundreds with nothing but chump chain in them, it was a sad sight.

"Black Amex," Sam hissed despairingly at the card. "If only your owner hadn't already reported you as stolen." She tossed the card behind her, inspecting the wallet it came from closely. It looked like a knock off, but she might be able to find a crappy pawn shop with an owner too dim-witted to notice. In truth, she didn't even need to trade the items- her last few days pull while not great, were enough to buy her a week at a cheap motel. She didn't want a week at a motel though; she wanted a night in a five star hotel. If she wanted a motel she would have stayed at home and put up with her crap life like most normal teenagers did.

She wasn't a street kid for nothing. She had been born with a natural born talent to steal, pick locks- basically anything that fell under the minor felonies department. Her mother was a drunk, never awake before three and never home before two. It wasn't like Sam had some cliché resentment for her mother, she just wanted more. She hadn't even pulled a runaway, she had simply told her mother one day that she was leaving and that was that. Nothing tearful and overdramatic, just the simple lay down of what was what.

Sam took the cash and sorted it neatly, tucking it in the back pocket of her shorts and crossing her legs as she piled the wallets. She'd sell the wallets tomorrow, she decided lying back on the roof of Seattle's finest super Wal-Mart. Tonight, she was going to pull it old style and sleep under the stars, nothing but the stores and the slight hum of traffic to worry her. Tomorrow though, she was going to be a queen. A punk queen, of course, complete with crazed hotel-ruining habits that would put her on another police record as a nondescript blue eye blonde.

**/**

**AU. Road-trip style. I think if I was ever crazy enough to start another chaptered fic this would be it.**


	5. Dare Devil

Dare Devil

The pamphlet was mocking Freddie.

Sitting on the table next to him, the bright red scripted words seemed to scream at him against the dull grey and brown background; a disaster that had occurred after he had gone with the designer his mother had recommended. He couldn't even remember where it had come from- Carly maybe; he had faintly remembered her mentioning something along the lines of making 'self progress' and bothering him about his choice of non-social lifestyle. It didn't even matter who gave it to him though, the only thing that mattered is that for weeks ago it had been buried under mail and papers on his kitchen table and now it had somehow appeared on his coffee table at the worst possible time to taunt him.

He should have just thrown it away. What had possessed him to keep it, what reason he had have to keep a flimsy, ill crafted pamphlet that was laced with false promised was beyond him. He glanced at it, heart quickening like a child in the act of committing a crime.

_Bored with your life?__  
><em>  
>That was not a way to start off a pamphlet. Growing up with an OCD, slightly agoraphobic mother, he was exposed to his fair share of pamphlets and he knew that a pamphlet should always start off stating their main purpose.<p>

_Tired of being a total nub?_

Nub wasn't even a word, how could anyone with a creditable reputation actually use it in an advertisement?

_Call S.P: Life Coach_

Beside that whole S.P. name business, which was defiantly against the laws of…pamphlet-ing? What was a life coach, really? In reality, wasn't it just someone who was too lazy to get a real job and so decided to make a profit by bossing other people around and telling them what was wrong with their lives?

Something about the pamphlets promise for a new life enticed him though. The thought of stepping outside of the anti-bacterial box he had built for himself seemed thrilling and exciting. He was a healthy normal man; he knew that at twenty three it wasn't exactly ideal to live for his job and the promise that one day he'd finally start to live. Sure, he wanted excitement and a girl and the whole deal, but at the moment it just wasn't in his cards.

He could do it on his own though, if he wanted to live his life and 'start anew' like the pamphlet said, he didn't need some overly bronzed, meat head, probably perfect Ken-doll-replica guy telling him how to. Nope, he was self-efficient.

He sighed, picking up the pamphlet. 

**/**

**Sam's a life coach and Freddie's a nub- admit it, you know it'd work. Another abandoned AU.**


End file.
